False Fate

By MD1016

Part III: Os Destinados

Chapter 13 – Finding Empathy

"I felt, for the very first time in my life, that I actually belonged to someone, and someone belonged to me. That I had a home – not a physical place, I mean – but a home in her. I'd always wondered what that might feel like. I had fantasized about it. It was better than I'd ever imagined.

"The moment that she became my True Love, I knew it. She was tangible to me. More than just a feeling, she was like having a new arm or leg…or heart. There was suddenly more to me. She was a very real part of me in that sense, and I Loved her. I can't say it any plainer than that.

"Love with a capital 'L' and love with a lower case 'l' – they're not dissimilar. At least, not for me, they weren't. They're born of the same basic emotions, I reckon, though each is very much their own entity. I think I'd loved someone else – no I'm sure I had – before I ever became Fated. She was a different girl, mind, and me and the other girl, we were younger and so our love was more child-like. More innocent. More sweet and wonderful and exciting. And it was love, I'm certain, because I still love that girl now - though we're older and my love for her has grown into something else, something more; it's evolved into maturity just as I have become a man. It's a love that is stronger for knowing Love, and understanding the difference between the two. Because while they come from the same basic emotion – and I can't stress this enough - there is a difference.

"Love – capital – was a desperate, all-encompassing, manic sort of feeling for me. It was impulsive and overwhelming and I was completely lost to it. To her. I Loved her with everything that I was, with everything I had. And I knew – I absolutely knew – that she felt the same for me. That in itself was a revelation. To know someone Loves you – it's brilliant! It's amazing. It's terrifying and wonderful and…again, overwhelming. There's no subtlety in it, no grace. True Love is almost a compulsion, and when you're in the midst of it, it's the most wonderful thing in the world because in a very real sense it is your world. Well, I should say at least, it was mine.

"With lowercase love I am able to share my life with her. Capital L was my life. The difference may be slight but it's everything when you're drowning in it. She was all-consuming, or maybe, I found her all-consuming, because she was still, well, her. The difference was in me, and I knew – I could see – she wasn't happy. Nothing I did could make her happy, at least not for long. I kissed her and complimented her, and did a hundred little things for her every day. I made love to her, careful always of her pleasure, of her satisfaction, and still she cried. Still she was anxious. Still she had doubts. She hadn't always been mine, you see, and she felt the old pull. It divided her. It was just as real to her as she was to me, and so all the time I tried to help her forget…it was a waste, really. Because I could no sooner have forgotten her at that time than my heart could've forgotten to beat, or my blood to flow. It must've been awful for her. I know it was awful for me.

"When I saw her with our friend, her old pull, I felt as if I had a tempest living inside me. I hated him, and her, even while I Loved her. I told myself it was irrational. I knew it was wrong. I tried to force the jealousy away. I'd no reason to think there was any justification for jealousy, and still, it was there, inside me, just like the Love, though not nearly as welcome. I fought the hatred, but never the Love. That, I embraced as a drowning man might air. I clung to it, and to her, and now I think that might've made matters worse. Because still she cried, and I wanted to force her to stop. I wanted to Love her so much that there would be no room for the sadness left in her. I wanted to be what she was mourning. Who she was mourning. But even Fated, I wasn't him.

"The decision to give her back, to re-Fate her one might say, to her real True Love – her first True Love - it wasn't something I spent a lot of time pondering. Had I, I never would've gone through with it. It was difficult to let her go. But it was more difficult knowing that even though she and I were Fated together we weren't enough. Love wasn't enough. That I was given this opportunity to Love her, and I did as best as I could, and still I wasn't enough. She was the first person I ever completely belonged to, and she wanted another.

"All my life I've been more or less alone in the world. My friends are the one notable exception. They have been my family, my confidants, my support and protectors. And I was watching as one friend became my enemy, and the other began to withdraw, and no matter how hard I grabbed for the two of them, they kept slipping through my fingers.

"Yes, she was ripped from my soul. When I cast the spell, and she got her True Love back – the real one – I felt her go. It was the worst thing I've ever felt – worse than The Cruciatus Curse, worse than even the dementors. I can't say anything else about that.

"Now…I don't know how to explain…I love her still. She's my best friend and I'd do anything for her. I know she feels the same for me. But I'm in love with another girl – the other girl. The first girl. As I've said, the feelings are strikingly similar and still very distinct. There's no confusion between the two. Honestly, I don't think I ever stopped loving the first girl, not really, but the Love was just so very…overwhelming – I'm using that word again, I know. My Love was my world. There wasn't room for any others. It's a terrible, terrible thing to say, but it's the truth. So, while I Loved, my love was pushed aside. A necessary loss I thought at the time. Now, I can't even imagine that thought in my head. It's like I was another me. I never want to be that me again.

"Believe it or not, I'm grateful for the opportunity I had to know Love. It helped me to know mature love, and appreciate it, I think. To appreciate her - the girl I love now - and that, has made it all worthwhile.

"That, and I have my friends back."

-Harry Potter, interview excerpt from Os Destinados, by Miguel Amoro

January was a series of grey, cold, rainy days at number 12 in London, and grey, cold, snowy days in Hogsmeade. The weeks seemed to crawl by for Ron, and were filled with repetitive tedium like Ron having to feed himself and wash his clothes, both of which took a bit of organization on his part as his flat still wasn't even close to what any sensible person would call livable. There were days when he didn't eat, and more than once he just turned his underwear inside out. Ron mother visited exactly once, and after that took to inviting him back to the Burrow for tea. Tonks was still living with her, and Ron sensed that it was causing some strain in her relationship with Lupin. Not that Ron wanted anything to do with that, but Lupin did become more sullen as the weeks wore on, and more peevish in their nightly lessons.

The lessons themselves were difficult and frustrating, and more often than not Ron felt as if he wasn't learning a thing. He did the exercises assigned – well, he did them when Harry reminded him, and as far as Ron was concerned, he had made very little headway.

Nearly three weeks after his father's funeral, just as Ron was getting up to close the store, a tall, dark, familiar figure blew in with the cold, and the tiny tinkle of music announced his arrival. The Portuguese, in his purple robes and black beard, glanced interested around the shop before his eyes landed on Ron, and a large smile lifted his long, somber face.

"Ah! Mister Weasley," he said by way of greeting, and extended his hand.

Ron shook it, dreading what was surely to come. "Uh…hi, then." Ron muttered.

"Amoro," the man said. "Miguel Amoro. We meet before, at home of you parent. You father, so sorry. Very sorry."

"Yes," said Ron. "Thanks."

"How do you?"

Ron blinked at him. "I'm fine."

"And Menina Granger? She is also fine?"

"Wouldn't know. Look, it's nice seeing you again, but I've got someplace to be-"

"Ah, yes. You British be busy. I understand. But, I have come to ask of you to talk for my book. The story of you is very important for history, and the world! We will write it, yes?"

"Uh…no."

"Yes! You and Harry Potter and Menina Granger, you talk of the Destinados. You teach, I learn, yes?"

"No."

"Yes!" Amoro quickly became excited, and Ron took a coupled of steps back to give him room to gesture with his long arms as he spoke. "The Love, it must be told! Os Destinados – the Fates – they must be understand! Years I wait for Fates to smile, and them smile on you! You and Menina Granger and the Harry Potter! Yes?"

"No."

"Yes!"

"Look, 'the Harry Potter' is famous enough, thank you very much, and Miss Granger doesn't live here anymore, and is very likely a missus by now! And I have absolutely no intention of ever talking publicly again, on any subject!"

His little outburst gave Amoro pause. "I think, not so good a time is this. I wait for the passions to tire."

"Good, wait all you want. But outside. I'm closing up now." Ron showed the Portuguese the door, and tapped his wand to be sure it was truly locked. Through the door's window Ron watched as Amoro conjured a small tent not five feet away, and then an equally small brazier next to it, along with hot coals, with which he began to warm his hands. When he noticed Ron was still watching he waved happily. It looked like Ron was going to have a new neighbor with no immediate plans for moving.

Ron rolled his eyes and doused the lights with his wand. Why could nothing be easy? Why couldn't Amoro just accept Ron's 'no' and leave it at that?

***

At number 12, Harry was already hard at work deflecting everything Moody threw at him. Several of the dining room walls, as well as the chandelier, took the brunt of it. Ron walked in to see Harry throw himself backwards on to one of the mats, narrowly missing the Severing Curse Moody fire. Harry returned with the strongest "Expelliarmus!" Ron had ever seen. It wasn't until Moody fell back to the ground (his wood foot and false nose flying in opposite directions) that Ron felt a strange wiggle and the now familiar chill within him.

"Perfect timing," Harry said, picking himself up off the floor. He held out a hand to Ron and gripped his arm briefly before helping Moody reassemble. "You're angry again." This comment was directed at Ron, though Harry didn't look at him again.

"You're late," Moody griped from the floor. He glared at Ron while his magical eye rolled up and looked through the ceiling. "You've brought a bag?"

Harry looked up at him as well. "You're staying? Who are you fighting with this time? Or is someone new angry with at you?"

Ron shoved his fists into his jeans. "Well, I was going to ask to kip here. Later. After the lesson. I wouldn't assume, you know, but I figured you'd say yes. The Portuguese is back and he's tenacious, that one is. Wants an interview or something and won't take no for an answer. He's camped outside of the store, and I thought to avoid him for a day or two. Maybe he'll lose interest?"

Harry snorted his views on that. "So, he's back, eh? Why not talk to him? He might have some answers–"

"Well, I haven't any questions, now, have I? The Fates were wrong, weren't they? She's gone and that's that."

Harry shrugged. "It could help get Hermione back–"

"What? Married to Vicky? I don't think so."

Harry turned away under the pretense of returning Moody's wand, and muttered under his breath: "I don't care who she's married to. I just want her back."

"Well, I don't," Ron muttered back.

Harry shot him an angry look. "Don't lie to me, Weasley. I've been in there–" he said, pointing his wand at Ron's chest. "I know better."

Ron scowled at him, but didn't say another word. Harry knew things he shouldn't know. Private things. Things Ron didn't even know. Certainly he didn't want Hermione back! Right? It wasn't as if he missed her...

Well, of course he missed her. She'd been such a fixture in his life for so many years. But it wasn't as simple as just missing her, was it? There was so much more crammed inside him. And it hurt to look too closely. Maybe he did want her back, even married to Viktor – but it wasn't something he wanted to contemplate too hard.

"Constant vigilance!" Moody screamed out of nowhere, and he shot an Itching Hex right between Ron's legs, too fast for any reasonable expectation of deflection. Ron went down swearing, scratching, and hating life a bit more. His only satisfaction was the chill inside him that foretold Moody's downfall. Less than ten seconds later Moody's magical eye rolled toward Ron, its owner having been strung from the ceiling by his left heel. Harry held Moody's wand.

"He's a bit off his game tonight, isn't he?" Ron asked, still scratching.

"I cursed him with a Bad Luck Jinx before we began," Harry explained. Then he flicked his wand, muttered a counterhex at Ron, and the itching mercifully stopped. The relief was brilliant, and Ron flopped on his back on the floor mat.

"You can kip here. Stay as long as you like," Harry told him. "This place is too gloomy with just me in it."

Moody was, of course, cursing and demanding to be released, but it didn't look like Harry was going to pay attention any time soon.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Thanks." The ceiling had several scorch marks in addition to the new footprints Moody was leaving. Ron took a deep breath and crossed his arms behind his bald head. Yes, he missed Hermione, he thought. Alright, he missed her a lot. With his thumb rubbing back and forth against the stubble just breaking through his scalp, Ron looked at Harry, who had dropped down beside him. "She didn't leave because of Viktor, did she?"

Harry rested his elbows on his bent knees. Staring at his trainers, he slowly shook his head.

"She left because of me, didn't she?"

Harry nodded.

"Why didn't I see that before? She wanted me to ask her to stay, didn't she? I could've. I could've and she would be here now. Why didn't I? What's wrong with me?"

With a shrug and a sigh, Harry turned to him. "I've something to tell you, and you're not going to like it."

"Go on, then." Even though Ron wasn't really up to bad news, it was probably best to get it over with. And if Hermione had left Harry with some piece of insight, then Ron felt he probably should know, too.

But it wasn't about Hermione. "I think I may know where a Horcrux is, and I'm taking Shacklebolt and Moody tomorrow to retrieve it."

"Where? I'm coming, too."

Harry shook his head. "I can't risk it. Even just now, when you came in the room, your magic was saturated in emotion. I can't afford the distraction."

It was a harsh admission, and it cut deep. Ron hadn't mastered the task put to him, and this was the price. He pursed his lips, angry with himself for his weakness.

Just then Harry grunted and grabbed his forehead, and his spell on Moody faltered. The old wizard went crashing to the floor. "Help him," Harry said through gritted teeth, still obviously fighting the pain in his scar. Ron scrambled up and went to Moody, who pushed him away.

"What is it, Potter?" Moody demanded.

"He's surprised." Eyes still closed, Harry rubbed at his head. The pain was ebbing, then, Ron decided. "He's not often surprised. And he's glad for it."

"Glad for what?" Ron asked.

"Don't know. But it's bigger than he'd hoped for. He's excited." This last bit of information set a frown on Harry's face. "He's getting more powerful. I can sense it in his emotions. It's in his magic. I can feel it."

"Close it off, Potter," Moody warned. "Every time you sense him, assume he's getting something from you. You don't want to tip your hat before we're in a position to strike."

"It's getting harder and harder to sever the connection each time," Harry told them. "It's like he's a lorry or something, and I'm trying to push him back with my bare hands. His magic is that…big."

"I thought you were working on that with Lupin–"

"I am!" Harry snapped, and jumped up from the floor. "It's not that simple, is it? Occlumency has never been easy for me, and this is just getting harder and harder. What's to happen when he finally over powers me?"

"I suppose that's what I'm for," Ron said.

"Never," Harry insisted. "Not while you're like this. Voldemort would know too much about you. About all of us. We can't give him anything he might be able to turn against us."

Ron had to pull it together. That was the long and short of it. He had to find a way to separate his emotional self from his magical self, and he had to do it quickly. "This never should've been me. I'm not cut out to be a Simsurato."

"You can do it, Ron. I know you can–"

"Constant vigilance!" Moody yelled again, and this time flattened Harry against the far wall. There was a certain amount of glee in his eyes. Harry struggled to even lift his arm and aim, and when he shot a Burning Spell, he missed by meters.

"Voldemort's exhausted him, pimple! He's weak – his well is low! What do you do?"

"Feed him magic," Ron said, and began to reach down for the cold inside himself.

"No!" barked Moody, and his wand left Harry and flew to Ron. A second later Ron was lying on the ceiling, looking down at Harry who slid to the floor. "What do you do?" Moody questioned again. "If you hand him your energy, you're telling Voldemort how to defeat him! What do you do?"

Ron couldn't think with Moody screaming at him, and Harry down there struggling just to get to his knees. Harry shot Moody with Expelliarmus, and it only knocked him back a step.

"Come on, Weasley! You're his Smisurato! He's counting on you!"

"Shut it!" Harry yelled, and blasted Moody with the Furnunculus Jinx, and managed to produce two good-sized boils on Moody's cheek.

Moody rolled his eyes and back-handed his wand at Harry, crushing Harry against the wall again, before catching Ron not an inch from hitting the matted floor. Ron swung back up, slammed bodily against the ceiling. "Time's a wasting, pimple! What will you do? Voldemort's got him where he wants him. Harry's going to die!"

"Let him go!" Harry called out. "This isn't his fight!"

"He's your Smisurato," Moody reminded him, somewhat angrily. "Your fight is our fight is his fight!"

"Stop, I say!" Harry screamed. "I can't lose him, too!"

This grabbed Moody's attention. With his gaze fixed firmly on Harry, he gently lowered Ron to the mat. "So, now we're getting to the heart of the matter."

"Not here," Harry warned. "Not now."

"Here and now," Moody insisted. "Every man is entitled to his secrets, but not from his Smisurato. And certainly not from his True Love!" This, of course, was spit out for Ron's benefit. "Tell him, Harry, and have it out."

"Tell me what?" Ron asked.

"I don't want to have it out with him," Harry said, angrily. He made it to his feet with the help of the wall, and brushed his hair from his eyes.

"Look, if this is about Hermione–"

"Of course it's about Hermione!" Moody snapped. "What, are you daft?"

"Are you going to hex me again?" Ron's hand went reflexively to his still-bald head.

"No one's hexing anyone," Harry said firmly. "Lesson's over. I'm drained, and we've an early morning tomorrow."

He gave Moody a pointed look, and to Ron's surprised Moody accepted what Harry said. He turned his heavy frame and limped out of the room with a terse, "Five past five. Vigilance, Potter. Constant vigilance."

Harry relaxed a bit when he was gone, but avoided looking directly at Ron. He pulled off his trainers as he said: "I expect we'll be gone a couple of days, at least. Stay as long as you like."

Ron stopped him before he got to the door. "Um…look. Harry. I know I've messed things up, not just for me but for everyone–"

"Forget it," Harry said, quietly. "I know how you feel now. We're fine – you and me. Just…nip home to your mum, will you? Your dad, Hermione and you…that's a lot of loss all at once."

"Right." Ron watched him go, and then debated whether he should stay at the manse or not. Harry was leaving without him in the morning and, as if that wasn't bad enough, Harry gone meant that Ron would wake up in the manse alone. The idea didn't exactly thrill him. The clock in the entry said it was half past seven. Odd. It seemed much later than that. But, in any event, it was too early to retire, really, and he suspected his mum would just be finishing with the supper dishes, so if he paid her a visit as Harry had suggested (along with a good dose of guilt) then there would probably be tea and cakes. Everyone knew his mum made the best cakes in Ottery St. Catchpole, and quite possibly all of Devon. The grumble in his stomach decided it.

***

Ron Apparated just outside the magical markers placed around the Burrow. The crystals that lined the path to the house lit a soft amber color as he passed. They knew him and welcomed him home. The house was mostly dark, save for the golden kitchen and den lights. He expected to find his mum at the sink as he pushed open the door, but the kitchen was deserted. A panicked cry came from the den. Ron pulled out his wand and hurried into the next room to find Tonks in a squat on the floor in front of the couch, her hands holding her enormous belly. Pain contorted her face. She was bare legged and sweating, and when she saw him, tears filled her eyes.

"Ron," she gasped. "Thank the stars! I need your help!" She reached out for him, and he hesitated in getting any closer to, what looked like to him, a womanly thing. A scary womanly thing.

"I'll get help," he said, backing away.

"There's no time!" She reached down between her legs. "The baby's already here."

"Wha'? No, it can't – I'll send my patronus –"

"You think I didn't try that already? You think I want to deliver this baby by myself? Mad Eye's bloody charmed the hell out of this place, and I can't get anything through!"

"Where's my mum?" Ron demanded, true panic beginning to set in.

"Went to get her hair done, and that was going on three hours ago! UGH!" She groaned and doubled over and clutched tightly at her stomach. Her face was red with straining, and the veins in her neck and face were prominent enough to terrify Ron. Shouldn't she be in a bed?

"We need help," he began, backing away again.

"You are help, Ron. Please don't leave me! Please!" She started to cry in between bouts of hyperventilation, and Ron looked back at the door. It would take him time to find someone, time to run out, to apparated to St. Adele's – that's where the midwifery witches were, wasn't it? He hardly knew.

"Ron, I need some blankets, some towels…" Another pain slammed through her and she cried out through gritted teeth. The rug on the floor was wet and bloody, but the mess hardly seemed to matter at the moment.

"Maybe I should…find Lupin–"

Tonks shook her head and cried again. "I can't do this, Ron. It hurts so bloody much! What was I thinking? I can't be a mother! I can't!"

Ron's eyes went wide. "It's a little late for that now, don't you think?"

"Shut up!" she yelled, and then dissolved into tears.

"Er…right, then. Blankets and towels."

He bounded up the stairs more to get away from her than to get supplies. Ginny's room was the closest and he ran a hand over the stubble on his head as he looked around. Tonks was having a baby. Downstairs. Right, then. What to do? His mind went blank.

Hermione would know what to do.

"Blankets and towels…blankets and towels. Accio blanket!" The bed flew at him, mattress and all, and knocked him back against the wall. It took him a couple of minutes to dig himself out, all the while cursing himself once again for not having emotional control of his magic yet. Once free, he tucked the blankets under an arm, ignoring the trailing fabric, and rushed back down the stairs, sliding down the last three.

Tonks was straining again. He didn't know what to do with the blankets now that he had them, so he waited. She wasn't cold, that much was clear, not with all that sweat pouring down her neck and face. It seemed to take a very long time.

Finally she reached out for him again, and this time he took her hand and let her pull him close. "The head's out," she said between gulps of air. "When I push next, I want you to see if you can't wiggle his shoulders out."

"Er…what?"

"Here," she said, and yanked his hand down between her legs. He closed his eyes, turned his head, and tried not to touch anything, but she forced his hand on to something wet and slimy.

"Please let that be the baby," he muttered to himself.

"Look at it, Ron! Does he look all right?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

"I can't see him, Ron, you can! I've been at this for hours now, and I need to know if he's all right. Just look. Please! Is he blue?"

"Do you want him to be blue?" Was she hoping for a Metamorphmagus?

"JUST LOOK!"

Never in his wildest nightmares had Ron ever imagined this scenario. Spiders were preferable. "Tonks, I really don't think–"

"You're what I've got, Ron. Just you."

She played to his nobler side and got him. He couldn't walk away from her, not after everything she'd done for him at the Ministry that night, not after all she'd done for his mum - his whole family, really. Tonks needed him, and he was going to help.

"Right, then. So, I just…look?" He could do that. He bent down and forced himself to peer between her legs. "Agh," he said. "That can't be right." Not only was he not prepared to be staring at this particular place on Tonks, he had zero frame of reference. Legs and then a huge, dark, hairy egg-shaped thing right in the middle.

"Is he blue?" she demanded with a bit of hysteria in her voice.

"He's got dark hair," Ron said. "I can't see anything – oh, wait. There's his, well, it could be a face…"

"IS HE BLUE?"

"He's a bit off, that's for sure, but I don't think he's blue. Could use a bit of sun. Hard to tell, really, with all this…" He ran his hand over tiny round cheeks and cleared some of the white, cheesy stuff. "He's got a bit of rubbish up the nose, I think. Shall I…?"

"YES!" Tonks had gone over into another crying fit, and was straining and weeping and shaking all at once. Ron let her be and focused instead on clearing the tiny nose. It was so odd seeing this little person sticking out backward from the bottom of this bigger person that he now knew entirely too well.

The blanket was far too large and awkward to use as a cloth in the confined space between Tonks' legs, so Ron whipped off his shirt and used the edge of it to wipe most of the baby's face clean. He was at an odd angle, and it was difficult to see and maneuver without touching anything else.

"Now, Ron," she gasped. "Pull now!"

There was no handle on the baby, and Ron hadn't a clue where he was supposed to pull from. Certainly he wasn't to go yanking on the baby's head. As she strained the baby inched a little farther out so that Ron could see his neck, and then Tonks gave up, and he got sucked back inside again until his round little cheeks rested snuggly on her rear. Another image Ron wasn't thrilled about witnessing, but he realized what the problem was.

"The shoulders are too wide," Ron told her. "He's not coming out this way."

"Well, he's not coming out the other end, Ron, so figure it out! You've got to pull him free!"

"Pull from where?" Ron asked. "He's got a head and a neck that I can get to."

"I don't know!" Tonks wailed. "Get your hands in there and pull him out! Not right now, you half-wit! When I push!"

He glanced back at the door, but there was no sign of reinforcements. With slimy hands Ron pulled out his wand and created a little light. It didn't make the tableau any prettier.

"All right," said Tonks, and she bore down with everything in her.

The baby was pushed out a little, but not nearly enough, and Ron couldn't see any other choice but to actually reach in and try to get his hand between Tonks and the little shoulder. She cried out when he forced his fingers in, and then again when his knuckles wedged inside. One finger managed to loop around the baby's arm, and he tried to wiggle the baby's shoulder up and out. The smell was outrageous.

The opening contracted, and Ron yelled: "Push!" For a moment he thought he might lose his hand in there.

Tonks screamed a deep, belly roar, and the baby moved a little more until his right arm flopped out. Ron then edged him out, and he was free to the waist. A huge gush of water and blood came with him, and Tonks cried out again and braced against the couch. Then she dissolved into tears.

"You're almost there," Ron encouraged. "He's half out now. Just another good shove on your part, and it'll all be over.

She nodded, but he wasn't sure she believed him. He'd never seen anyone so completely exhausted in all his life. "Remind me, Ron, if you would, that when next I see Remus, I need to Pummel him about the head a little."

"You should aim lower," Ron told her, and they shared a weary chuckle.

"Here it is again," Tonks said, and her curled body went tense as she began to strain. Ron didn't even have to look this time, the baby slid out with a pop and more slimy water, and then continued to slip through Ron's hands. He managed a save with the baby against his bare chest, upside down.

"His head," Tonks said quickly. "Support his head. You can't let his neck bend even a little."

It took some delicate doing, but Ron managed to right the baby, and then realized he was still attached. "Uh…Tonks…there's a…what the bloody hell is that? There's not another one in there, is there?"

"It's the cord," she told him, then collapsed back against the couch, and stretched her filth-caked legs out on the floor. "Give him to me." She reached out for her son, and Ron gingerly handed him over. Then, he pulled one of the blankets over her and the baby.

He watched her look at her son for the first time, the way she took him in her arms, the way she touched his tiny toes and ran her finger over his smooth cheek. Her expression was one Ron had never witnessed before, somewhere between awe and love and relief and pride. She cried again.

The baby took his first breath, and it shook his whole body, and then he tensed and let out a high-pitched squeal that Ron was sure made dogs bark three villages over. Then the baby turned red and began to cry in earnest.

"Ron, thank you." Tonks smiled at him with watery eyes. "You saved our lives."

"Me? Nah," he told her with a large smile of his own.

"We're not done yet, though."

Ron's face dropped. "You said there wasn't another one."

"I need you to find some string or something. You need to cut the cord."

"That sounds…dangerous."

She gave a little laugh. "You've done so well, Ron. Just a little bit more."

He got some cooking twine from his mother's drawer in the kitchen, and tied off the small section of the cord near the baby's stomach. Then, as Tonks carefully instructed, he used a Severing Spell to cut the cord. Dark, thick blood oozed out, and for a moment the room went very dark and hot.

"Ron!" he heard her calling from a very long way off. "Ron! Breathe, man! Breathe!"

He ended up on his rear, dizzy and giddy, his wand clutched in one hand and the cord in the other. "Uh, what do I do with this?" he asked once he realized it was still attached to her. Maybe it went back inside for the next baby to use, he reasoned.

"Let's worry about that later, shall we?" She kissed her son.

It was then that the kitchen door opened and Ron's mum came in with a sack full of groceries and a wave in her hair. She stopped dead when she saw Tonks and the baby, and Ron sitting nearby, shirtless and covered in filth.

"Oh, my daisies!" she exclaimed and ran into the room. "Is he all right? Tonks, are you all right?"

"All fine, thanks to your son, here," Tonks told her. Then she stared down at the creature in her arms. "Just look at him, Molly! He's his father's son."

Ron's mum settled herself next to Tonks on the floor and cooed at the new baby. "What's he called?" she asked. "Have you and Remus decided on a name?"

Tonks gazed at her new son. "Remus had thought to call him Sirius or James, after his lost friends, but he came to agree that there was too much pain and history there for this new little life. We've agreed to call him Jack. Jack Ronald Lupin, I've just decided." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You're my hero, Ron. You took control and did what had to be done, and…thank you…" She burst into tears once more, bouncing little Jack on her chest as she sobbed.

"There, there," said Ron's mum. "Give me the baby and I'll get him cleaned up and swaddled. Delivered the afterbirth, have you?"

Tonks shook her head as she handed her baby over.

"Well, then, we'll see to that as well. Ron, dear, why not get cleaned up, and then run see if you can't find Remus. We should introduce him to his son before young Jack here leaves for Hogwarts."

"Right," said Ron, suddenly exhausted. Birthing babies was hard work. Then he stopped and looked at Tonks. She was all right with him leaving, wasn't she? Now that his mum was back? She smiled at him through her tears, and then at her wailing baby, and Ron felt confident she didn't need him there anymore. And when his mum handed the baby back to Tonks, she began to lift her shirt to expose a knocker.

Ron ran from the room.

***

Lupin was at their apartment, and all Ron had to say was, "The baby–" and he Apparated away leaving Ron to lock up.

***

Ron completely forgot about Amoro, though. When he returned to his flat the old man was standing out in the cold, misty night. Ron turned, thought to go back to the manse – even with Harry gone - but something made him look back at the tall wizard hunch against the freezing rain. He knew Amoro was playing on his sympathies – no wizard in his right mind would just stand in this kind of weather, especially with a tent not a foot away. A wizard's tent that probably came complete with heat and running water. And a four-poster bed.

And still Ron hesitated. Because when he looked back at the Portuguese, there was real hope in his eyes. The man knew about the Fates. Ron didn't find this quite so threatening as he had before, for some reason. Tired as he was, Ron thought he might be up for anything that night.

"All right," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "Come in. I'll give you an hour."

"Thank you, thank you, jovem Weasley! The world thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said. "They better."

***

It was five days before Ron saw Harry again, and then it was as Kingsley was carrying him up the manse stairs. Kingsley's rhino Patronus had found Ron at the shop, and told Ron that he was to run back to the Burrow and collect his mother as Harry was going to need some tending. Nothing St. Mungo's worthy, he was assured. Ron had arrived at number 12 with his mother in tow just moments before Moody and Kingsley hurried in. Moody headed for the parlor and the Firewhiskey there, while Kingsley took Harry up to his room. Ron's mum followed up. Ron went in behind Moody.

"Drink?" Moody asked.

"No, thanks."

"Well, I don't mind if I have a glass. Or three."

"Did you get it?" Ron couldn't wait any longer. He had to know if they'd managed what they set out to do: find and destroy a Horcrux.

"Oh, yes, I daresay we did. Brought the whole of the Cave of Regret down around us as well. The Ministry will have a fit when they find it collapsed. A favorite hiding place, it was."

"The Cave?" Instantly Ron remembered the rough walls, cool air, and Hermione lying on her side on the rock floor, quietly crying. It had been a horrible place. "It was there? How did you find it?"

"No idea," Moody admitted, and then collapsed down into a chintz chair. "Potter knew the place from before, and said something about a fork in the cavern, and the path less traveled, or some such. Close as I can figure that Malfoy mongrel was sent there to retrieve the Horcrux for You-Know-Who, stumbled on the Cup of Oaths, and decided the Cup was worth more to him than the Horcrux, and changed his plans."

"You-know-who sent him to get the Horcrux? That can't be right."

"Oh, we think it is. Ever since the first two Horcruxes were vanquished, You-Know-Who has been desperate to get the rest of them back. Can't have little pieces of his soul just laying around where any Tom, Dick, or Harry…can find them and destroy them, now can he? I mean, in peace-time it might make sense to spread them around a bit, in case of accidents or what not. But now that he knows we're hunting them down...oh, that's lovely," he said, having tasted his drink.

"What was it?"

"The Horcrux? A cup. Little silver thing, not even big enough for a decent cup of tea. Belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, though it would, wouldn't it? She was overly fond of useless trinkets and dainty rubbish."

Ron was surprised to hear this coming from Moody's mouth, and his expression must've shown as much. "What?" Moody demanded. "I've read a history or two. I did go to school, you know. I've not always been an old fart!"

"So," Ron said, changing the subject, "that makes three down, yes? Three more to go?"

"That's what it seems," Moody agreed and took another swallow.

"And Harry's going to be all right?" Ron asked, nervously looking back up the stairs. He'd seemed awfully pale, or had that just been the dim light?

"That one fought like a wizard!" Moody said, jabbing a blunt finger in the direction of the stair. "Be proud of him, pimple. He was a sight to behold."

"Maybe I'll just go up and–"

"No!" Moody insisted. "You stay away from that one until he has a chance to recover some of his energy. It's dangerous for him to be so weak; he's vulnerable in this state. He needs to regain his strength as quickly as possible, and that won't happen if you accidentally douse him with your latest woes."

"I was just going to say hullo," Ron said defensively.

"Wait until tomorrow, I say! He deserves to sleep, in any case."

"Yeah, all right." It hadn't looked like Harry was all that talkative as Shacklebolt was carrying him up the stairs. "Tonks had her baby. He's called Jack."

"Has she now? I trust all went well."

"As well as could be expected. I delivered him."

Moody snorted his amusement, and then sobered when Ron's earnest expression didn't change. "You're joking," Moody said.

"Not a bit of it," Ron told him.

"Well, well. Pimple rises to the challenge. I take it you were the only git around at the time?"

Moody's compliments sounded suspiciously like insults. Ron's brows furrowed. "I did what needed to be done. And everyone is safe and healthy - that's all that matters."

Moody took a moment to absorb Ron's assertion, and in that moment took another sip. "Good man. There may be some hope for you yet. Now get out, and let me think in peace."

Ron left then, but more because he didn't want to sit around while Moody became even more irritable with drink.

He headed back to the Burrow, which he temporarily called home again. Tonks had gone home after Jack's arrival, to Lupin's great relief, leaving Ron's mum in an empty house. It had only taken her a night alone in the house before she visited him at the store, and much to Ron's surprise, seemed reluctant to leave again. He took her to a restaurant that night, and she praised him for treating his "ol' mum" like a queen. Neither of them spoke of Hermione or his father, though Ron was fairly sure they were weighing heavily on both of their minds. The conversation did turn, however, to Ron's flat and his plans to make it a home. This pleased her less, somehow, and he was confused by her reactions until she suggested that he go back to the Burrow "…just until," she said, "your flat is livable. It can't possibly feel like a home in there now with all those boxes and what-nots."

She wasn't ready to be alone, he realized, and then decided that maybe he wasn't quite ready, either. And there was, after all, a bit of work to be done on the flat. And as long as it was just temporary, Ron assured himself, there was really no reason not to give his mum another body in the house. And if he was to be honest, the flat, livable or not, was rather lonely. He was glad to have the shop to fill his days, but the evenings were tough. Back at the Burrow, they weren't so obviously painful.

***

It was two days later that Ron finally caught up with Harry, still in bed, but happily munching on toast and marmalade and lemon tea. Ron's mum left them alone to talk, and Ron found he didn't know what to say. Harry looked like death warmed over. He was so pale as to be chalky white, and it made his black hair and brows seem that much blacker. His scar seemed redder than usual, his eyes bruised.

"You look like hell," Ron finally said, and this brought a grin to Harry's face. "You should be at St. Mungo's. I wish I could've gone with you."

"Thanks," Harry said. "But had you gone, I think you would be singing a different tune. It wasn't as pleasant as the last time you and I visited that cave."

"Harry!" Ginny came bursting in, and she threw herself at him on the bed. "I've only just got your owl! How could you not tell me what you were doing?" Her arms went around his neck and she pushed her face into the crook of his neck. "Damn you, Harry Potter! You tell me to trust you and then you go off and do something like this!"

"But I'm fine!"

"Like hell, you're fine!" She pulled back far enough to get a good look at him. "Mum says you've been in bed for days, that you're weak as a kitten!"

"She exaggerates. I'm really all right."

"Then why's your scar look like you've tried to scratch it off?"

Harry rolled his eyes and looked to Ron for help, but Ron wanted to know as much as Ginny did. Harry sighed and played a little with his toast. "Well, we destroyed a Horcrux, and Voldemort is understandably a little peeved. He's been killing…punishing. It makes him happy. Well, not happy, but it excites him. And when he's happy and excited I hear about it." He rubbed at his scar. "It's been difficult to sleep, actually. On the other hand, they're down four Death Eaters, so there's the silver lining."

Ron ignored Harry's arm snaking around his sister's waist. Instead he focused on something less disturbing. "Why aren't you at Hogwarts?" Ron asked Ginny. "They don't allow passes home unless it's an emergency."

"I'm on a Family Mourning Pass. I told them mum was in a bad sort. Which, she sort of is. She's downstairs crying."

"She still does that a lot," Ron said quietly. "Tonks said it's normal, but I don't know."

"I miss dad, too," Ginny whispered. "Oh, Harry, please, please take care. And tell me when you're going to run off. You promised you'd tell me and I believed you, and if you want me to trust, then you have to be honest!"

"I'm glad to see you, too," he said to the top of her head. "I've missed you."

She squeezed him a little tighter.

Ron was torn between wanting to make a hasty exit, and leaving his baby sister in Harry's bed un-chaperoned. He knew where that had already led, and felt some vague brotherly duty to see that it didn't happen again. At least not on his watch. But neither of them seemed to mind that he was there…or notice, really.

"You were right about the Shield Charm," she told him, a gentle smile on her face. "It worked, well, like a charm. I got the highest marks in the class on my DADA exam this week. Professor Cothwaith was most impressed, and asked me where I learned such…finesse. Thank you, Harry, for my private lessons." She kissed him on the cheek, and a silly grin spread wide across his face. He looked at Ron, a little abashed, and happily shrugged.

The two of them there, relaxed against each other, happy to have their arms entwined, didn't look like the teenagers Ron knew so well. They looked every part of a couple, and it was queer for Ron to see his little sister that way, let alone his best mate. They seemed comfortable, he decided, with each other and their situation. Harry kissed the top of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world. It left Ron unsettled.

"So…this is real," Ron said, waving a hand at the two of them. "It isn't going to go away?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged looks, and then she kissed him lightly on the lips, bounced off the bed, and headed out. "I'm going to check on Mum. You boys chat."

Harry watched her go, and then sobered a little when he looked at Ron. "I've been expecting this," Harry told him. "I'm surprised it took you this long to ask my intentions toward her."

Ron eyes narrowed. He didn't think that was what he was asking. "None of my business, really."

"She's your sister, and I'm your best mate. What happens or doesn't between us will certainly affect you in some way."

"It just feels so…" He wanted to saw wrong, but that wasn't really true. Ron struggled for a moment, but couldn't find the right word.

This made Harry smile. "It was bound to happen, sooner or later."

Ron nodded, miserable. "You're not going to break up with her again, are you? Because I know what you two have been doing–"

"Did," Harry said quietly, now studying the toast on his discarded plate. "Just the once. That was sort of…an accident. We just got a little carried away–"

"Really," Ron said quickly, "I don't need to know. I was just making sure that, well, you understand she's very taken with you, of course. Hermione said something about love." This made Harry grin again, as well as blush a little. "And she's, well, she's my sister. It would be awful if you changed your mind again and decide that it's too dangerous for you and her to date again."

Harry nodded. "I think your father's death proved that anyone associated with me is a potential target, regardless of whether we're dating or not. Ginny's life is in danger, and has been since I first met your family. It's hard to accept, but it's true. Not dating her isn't going to change that. And dating me," Harry said happily, "means she's not in danger of bringing Terry Boot into the mix. So, you see, I'm really just thinking of Terry."

Ron rolled his eyes, and gave a guffaw. "Right. That little display there," Ron waved to the bed, "was for Terry Boot's benefit. You're too selfless."

Harry chuckled. "Not at all. Ginny's…quite a girl."

"Yeah." Ron ran a hand over the soft fuzz on his head, a nervous gesture he'd developed over the last couple of weeks. He leaned forward in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees. "Harry…what have I done? I miss her so." He swallowed. A heaviness settled in his chest.

It was a relief when Harry said, "I miss her, too," and didn't ask Ron to elaborate.

"Do you think…they're married yet?" Ron asked. The thought had been playing through his head for the last couple of days and nights, almost non-stop. He thought it might make it less painful to just get it out there, but now that he'd heard the question aloud it almost made it worse.

"'Dunno," Harry said. There was no blame in his tone, no accusation or reprisal. Harry's grief was much more straight forward. He treated Hermione's loss like a death. Hermione, Ron's dad – Moody had said there would be more grief before the war was over. People died in wars, and people were left behind. Ron wondered who else he would lose – or who might mourn him. Certainly Hermione would notice if left with a gaping hole in the middle of her soul. He touched his chest. Even married to Viktor; he never wanted her to know that pain.

"Your Mum told me about the Portuguese," Harry said, changing the subject entirely. "About how you've been giving him interviews. She said you've learned a lot about your Fates from him. That's good."

Ron nodded, realizing it wasn't such a complete change in topic after all.

Harry continued. "I thought I might speak to him, as well. Try to understand the whole prophecy thing better. Did you know there are only prophecies about Fated things? But that not all things Fated are spoken of in prophecy? No, neither did I. I was surprised, actually, because of all of the hundreds of prophecies we saw in the Hall of Mysteries a couple of years ago. It made me think that being Fated wasn't all that rare – and then I thought of all the wizards in the world, past and present, and then, well, I guess there weren't all that many prophecies in there, after all."

"Amoro thinks you may be Fated multiple times."

Harry smirked. "Not Love Fated, surely."

"No." Ron glanced at the table where Harry's wand lay in front of a picture of his parents holding him and waving. "He thinks your mum was the first ever Muggle-born to be Fated. He thinks she was Fated with you."

"Really?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Hermione's the second. And she's Fated with me," he said, miserable.

Harry remained silent at this revelation, and studied Ron instead. Ron looked away, under the scrutiny. He couldn't tell what was going through Harry's head, and he didn't want Harry in his.

Of course, half the time Ron didn't know what was going through his own head. Just now he'd thought about that supper of fish and chips he had shared with Hermione and Harry that night when Harry first asked them to move in to the manse. He'd been thinking more about the chips than anything else, but the image of both of his friends was there as well. There was no reason for the memory; no impetus. It was just Ron's brain, knowing it had been hours since he'd eaten anything, weeks since he'd a proper meal, looking for a bit of fish and chips and comfort. He could just as easily have thought about any number of end-of-year feasts at Hogwarts. Couldn't he?

Harry handed him the last piece of toast from his plate. "You've been staring at it," he quipped. "Eat it."

This brought Ron out of his reverie, and he shook his head and stood. "I should go. I've got to open the store, and all."

"Will you be back for lessons tonight?"

"All right, then."

When he left the room he completely forgot he was hungry.

***

That night Lupin worked with Ron privately in the kitchen with the table and chairs pushed out of the way. It was slow going, but Lupin was more than patient. He looked exhausted, ragged, even though it was three weeks before the next full moon. "Jack," he'd said by way of explanation, along with a weary but heart-felt smile.

About an hour into the evening a crash followed by yelling came from upstairs, and Ron followed Lupin up the stairs two at a time to find Harry clutching his head, doubled over on his knees on the floor. Moody was kneeling beside him, but seemingly at a loss as to how to help. It was Harry's scar - that much was clear. His throat and face were bright red, the veins on his neck about to pop. Harry cried out until his voice broke, and his eyes streamed. He curled in on himself and slammed his forehead on the wood floor. Moody was able to stop him before he did it again.

"We need to find him an Occlumens," Lupin said. Moody nodded in agreement, a grim look on his face. "This is the worst I've ever seen him." Both men looked to Ron, and he concurred. Harry was in agony.

"He's reaching out for me," Ron said, and then corrected: "for my energy." The instant Ron let him in, his head was cleaved in two. Ron grabbed both sides, more out of reflex than any real hope of keeping his brains inside, and then blacked out completely.

When he came to, Harry was propped up against Moody's bent knee, gasping, sweating, and spitting the last of his supper into the pool of vomit next to him. He looked as if he'd just been beaten.

"There you are," Lupin warmly said to Ron. "Eat this." He handed him a chunk of chocolate from his pocket. It was warm and melted, and it practically slid down Ron's throat. "Better now, are you?"

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron's hands told him his head was intact, if still bald. "I thought I was dead."

"Sorry," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean to hurt you–"

"Is that what it feels like?" Ron demanded. "Was that V-vo-voldemort?"

Harry nodded, and then cradled his forehead in his hand again. "He's happy. Couldn't you tell? Behind the pain?"

"Behind the…there was something other than pain?" And pain didn't even seem the right word for what he felt. Four letters couldn't possibly contain the level of absolute agony that had sliced through his skull.

"It felt like he was…frolicking. Now that's a sight I wish I'd seen." He gave a weak chuckle. "I can't imagine what's happened that would make him so happy. You think he's found us? Found me?"

Moody's eye immediately scanned the manse. "Couldn't have. But best to be sure." He pulled his wand out, disappeared the sick Harry had produced, then laid Harry down on his side on the floor, and left.

Ron recovered faster than Harry, though he was still shaky on the inside. He pulled away from Lupin and went to sit by his friend, again careful not to touch him. Lupin seemed lost in thought.

"Ron," Harry whispered, "what time is it?"

"Can't be more than eight – oi! It's near on midnight!" Ron said staring at the clock on the mantel. "Were we out for hours!" He put a hand back to his head just for a little reassurance that it was still there. "Do you suppose it goes the other way as well? That he feels pain when you're happy? 'Cause if so, that night with you and Ginny on the couch must've been torture for him."

Harry laughed at this, then coughed. "I can only hope."

"Enough, you two. To bed with the both of you. And remember to keep your distance from each other, at least until morning. I need to find Kingsley. Can I leave you? Are you well enough?" He looked both of them in the eyes, judging their state of health.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "I'll just sleep." He looked at Ron.

"What? I'm better than you are!"

"Then upstairs and to sleep. Ron, I want you under this roof tonight, at least until Alastor gets back and gives us the all clear." This reminded him of something. "I'll check on the Burrow as well, just to be sure." He turned, then, and left, without a good-bye.

Ron was climbing the stairs just behind Harry when the second attack came. Harry screamed and went down, clutching his head, and slid halfway to the bottom of the staircase. Ron managed to jump out of his way, still afraid to touch him. At a loss as to what to do, Ron felt a panic sweep through him as he watched his friend once again writhing in You-Know-Whose clutches.

In agony, Harry slammed his head on the stair, and blood shot out from his nose. Ron ran into the parlor, grabbed one of the pillows from the settee and managed to slide it between Harry's face and the tread by the fourth or fifth blow. Blood covered the every surface in a four foot radius, soaked Harry's clothes, splattered on Ron. He worried Harry had done some real damage. But then Harry's cries seemed to calm a little, and his body became less taunt. The pain receded, and Ron pulled out his wand and righted as much of Harry's face as he could. His nose still looked broken, though, and he was fairly sure Harry was going to need a real healer this time, not just a quick spell. The question was: did he take Harry to St. Mungo's? Or did he wait for Moody to return? Harry made that decision for him.

"Ron, something's gone wrong. Horribly wrong. For Voldemort."

"That's good for us, right, mate?"

Harry grinned at him through the blood, the swollen eye and cheek, and puffy, crooked nose. "Wicked good." He turned his head and spit out a tooth. "Maybe though, we could put off the celebrations until we get back from hospital?"

***

It was close to a week later, while Ron had closed the shop for lunch, when Harry's gossamer buck galloped through the front wall. He carried a four word message:

"St. Mungo's. It's Hermione."

End of chapter 13